Counting Colors, Part V

The last week of painting passed, and before I knew it, it was the last day. When I called Will that other night to tell him I couldn’t go out with him, I knew he was trying to play it cool and sound understanding. But under all that I could sense sheer disappointment.

We painted and painted every day, completing the ticket booth and arch. Now we were just doing finishing touches. Will still wouldn’t agree to painting the yellow stripe. After quietly working for quite a bit, Will erupted.

“I can’t believe you would do that to me. I thought maybe we could be friends again or even more than that, and then you just go and act like your old self.”

“My old self? I only felt I could do that because you kept blowing me off!”

“Yeah, fine, I missed painting. And FYI, I wasn’t blowing you off on purpose.”

“Then what was it?!” I yelled.

Will got strangely quiet and wouldn’t meet my gaze. “You want the truth? It was cancer treatment. I have in a tumor in my heart and I was getting treatment for it.”

Neither of us said anything for a long time. I was shocked beyond belief. A million emotions flooded through me: regret, anger, fear, realization. Questions. So many questions. Is this why he missed school? How serious was it? What kind of treatment? Would he lose his hair, like all the other cancer patients I had seen? Would it kill him?

“And on Monday, I’m leaving for Seattle. There’s a treatment there that could save my life. It might. I really don’t know.”